Without another word, Kit stepped around behind me. I felt his warmth against my back as he bent in, and I heard the sound of him removing his knife from its sheath. The ropes around my wrists went slack, freeing my aching arms. Kit took hold of my elbow and eased me to my feet. His hand lingered as I stood.
“If you boys are ready,” Violette said, “I can show you to some lodging. Somewhere you might recognize, Kit.”
Kit released me, then gave a prompting push at the small of my back. It propelled me forward, but more outof surprise at what felt almost like an intimate touch than from the force.
Violette forged a path out of the building she informed me was called the Ossuary, and I found it far larger than I’d guessed when I’d been blindly ushered through it. We stopped to collect our confiscated belongings and endured another delay in a cramped office where she rifled through the drawers of a cluttered desk. I didn’t see what she found inside before she tucked it into the pocket of her slacks and rejoined us.
I’d already moved into the space she’d abandoned at Kit’s right side, so she rounded to his left. Taking hold of his elbow again, she took off at a clip.
The hallways turned and narrowed, forcing me to follow rather than walk abreast of them. I was fully in their shadow by the time we passed through a wide atrium and arrived before a pair of wooden double doors that opened out into fading daylight.
A town center sprawled before us. Cobblestones defined streets and alleys, traveled by pedestrians and horse-drawn carts. Beyond the jagged rooflines of the businesses and shops, smoke curled from distant chimneys.
Past those, sheer stone walls stretched toward the sky in a horseshoe shape, making it look like the city center had been dished out of the side of the Shattered Peaks.
“You’re lucky you came back now.” Violette’s cheery voice grated on me. “A few years after you left, your father simplified the initiation process. What used to take years now only takes months.”
“How many months?” I spoke up from behind them, feeling like an unwelcome eavesdropper on their conversation.
Violette glanced back at me with a saccharine smile. “Nine, for most,” she replied. “Some take more. Some less.Somemuchless.” She gave Kit a knowing look and wink before tittering a laugh.
My brain churned with thoughts and questions, reconciling what I’d been told by Kit while on the road with what I’d learned since we arrived.
His name was Kit Koesters, not Mosel. He was the son of the wicked Vaughn Koesters, a man who had wished his own child to suffer to better serve his god.
I couldn’t fault Kit for his desire to distance himself from that or shield himself from it as much as possible. The familial association would have made him a pariah anywhere but inside these walls. Here, though, if Violette’s adoring gaze was any measure, he was a legend.
The effusive redhead announced the sights as we passed, hanging on Kit’s arm and tossing occasional comments my way while I lagged behind. I prickled with envy at how comfortable she seemed with him, almost affectionate. I was so focused on the two of them that I missed nearly everything on Violette’s tour, which ended on the lawn of a single-story cottage about the size of my family’s farmhouse.
My attention returned to the conversation in time to hear Violette tell Kit, “It’s been empty since your father passed. Almost like it was waiting for you.”
The cottage was charming from the outside and decidedly innocuous. Scanning up and down the crooked residential road found most of the neighboring homes equally quaint. Flowerbeds dotted sparse front lawns and clotheslines were hung with fresh laundry. This cozy community was the opposite of what I’d expected to find when venturing to the Bone Men’s encampment.
As I studied the rows of houses around us, Violette and Kit turned to face me. Violette beamed while Kit remained stern, his gaze distant and unfocused.
“Kit, you never introduced me to your recruit,” the redhead said, her voice more sultry than conversational.
Kit’s dark eyes sharpened with awareness. “Ah, of course. Penny, this is Violette Yost. Vi, this is Penny.”
“Penny?” She giggled. “What a sweet name. Is it short for something?”
“Penwell,” I supplied grudgingly.
Violette tutted. “Oh, but that’s far too distinguished. Doesn’t suit such a boyish face.” She leaned in and pinched my cheek.
It was all I could do not to recoil as she sidled back up to Kit and bumped her hip into his.
“You know, my husband used to employ a farmhand named Penny,” she said. “Perhaps it’s a more common name than I thought.”
I did my best to keep my contempt from showing as Violette carried on. “Well, Penny, I owe you thanks for bringing my Kitten back to me.” She tipped her head onto Kit’s shoulder, looking like she would crawl inside his skin if he let her.
“Don’t mention it,” I muttered. Jerking a thumb over my shoulder, I indicated the closed cottage door. “Should we let ourselves in?”
“Oh, no. I have the key.” She fished into her slacks pocket to produce a weathered iron key she must have gotten from the desk in the Ossuary. She trotted up onto the stoop and fussed with the lock. Upon earning the click of the latch for her efforts, she pushed the door open inward.
She turned to me with what was proving to be an unrelenting smile. “Welcome to Ashpoint, Penny,” she said, then added, “And, Kit? Welcome home.”
14
